


eyes like palace fires

by halfacookie



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-19
Updated: 2016-05-19
Packaged: 2018-06-09 10:19:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,688
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6901915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/halfacookie/pseuds/halfacookie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Medieval-ish AU. Being more interesting than any minister in Seijoh's court is in fact a low standard, but the Crown Prince's new playmate clears them with a remarkable margin to spare. Don't let that man on the political playing-field, now.</p>
            </blockquote>





	eyes like palace fires

**Author's Note:**

> i was supposed to be writing something else but then i fell into medieval au hell. i don't know where the plot to this thing is. i'm just here, in medieval au hell, churning out wordcount while crying softly
> 
> feel free to join me, if you'd like

They used to praise his face before his talents all the time, christening Seijoh’s next ruler the _pretty prince_ , _the boy with an angel’s face_. So cute, people said. It lost its novelty very quickly, and so he showed them.

Does the Empire of Seijoh’s Crown Prince need an Iwa-chan to protect his fair self? _Fuck_ no. At fifteen Oikawa Tooru thrashes all of the military’s best recruits in combat, and at eighteen he snatches the reins of the court from half of his ministers. To prove the point. Iwa-chan hadn’t even been surprised.

So when he lays eyes on Sugawara for the first time, Oikawa mentally compliments the face first and laughs at himself for it. It is the summer of his twentieth year, grass-scent and summer heat thick on the wind, the time of the year every king regrets their acquiescence to holding trade talks now. He runs through faces in his mind and comes up empty for this stranger –must be an ordinary courtier, then, the son of some important man not quite important enough.

That silvery hair is pretty enough, telltale enough –must be an ordinary courtier destined with the duty of catching a privileged noblewoman (or man)’s eye, sneaking his family name up the political ladder through marriage. Which opens up a few possibilities for starting a conversation; being the polite and charismatic man he is, Oikawa naturally picks:

“Must be nice when one’s face fits their job!”

(Nah. That man’s from Karasuno . It’s fine to fuck with Karasuno in small amounts, their political clout is not the biggest.)

As he expects, the stranger doesn’t try to fuck with back. But he gets _oh, you mean they love their lame and disfigured kings just as much in Seijoh_ and true, it’s never occurred to him that the crowds scream louder because the sight of their prince is a picture-perfect one. And _oh_ , he learns a few more things from the easy conversation they strike up, a lazy repartee of the kind he’s never had before. Iwa-chan is too terse for verbal playfights, even if he could understand that there is a valid kind of fighting less serious than absolutely serious. Which is a pity, Oikawa realizes. Verbal playfights are fun.

“It takes more than a pretty face to succeed, don’t you think?”

“It does,” Oikawa agrees pleasantly, and Sugawara-san smiles a smile full of meaningless sweet pleasantries. They can sense the jibing undercurrent in each other. Sugawara-san leans against a painted pillar and Oikawa inclines his head, following the lazy movement, the both of them pretending to be nothing but shallow pleasantries. “But will your nation ever realize you have more than a pretty face?”

Sugawara really is a sight, with his gentle face and eye-catching hair. That shade of dove-grey is rarely natural, its lush sheen in the stifling heat even less so, and Oikawa idly imagines a boy born with charcoal locks; his hair dyed pale over ten summers.

“It’s not up to them,” is the reply, where Iwa-chan would’ve said _what the fuck,_ and the possibility arises that perhaps the boy had asked for the dye. With deceptive innocence, looking so believable on those damn fawn’s eyes. Sugawara widens his smile, deceptively innocent, but Oikawa thinks the man has sensed the pleased thrill in his pulse. What an interesting response. Also, really annoying for some reason.

“Your hair’s not natural, is it?” Somehow, the response had rubbed him the right and wrong way at the same time –and so Oikawa changes the topic, not without a twinge of irritation at the abruptness of his transition. He’s usually the one charming the court with spoken poetry. “In Seijoh we’d use the stuff that whitens linen. What do you use?”

Maybe that’s the reason for his annoyance. Sugawara isn’t him, and how dare he be just as good at spoken poetry. It’s childish, yes, remnants from those angry infantile years of being _Lordship Tooru’s pretty boy_ , but it means he’s going to work at getting better which works out in the end. Sugawara only laughs, light and delicate like a spoon tapped against glass, and again Oikawa thinks _how dare he._ Oikawa can probably laugh just as good. Probably prettier. How did he become so image-conscious again. Perhaps he should look into weaponizing his looks beyond getting him favours with the court ladies –

“Are you interested in becoming blonde, my lord?”

Oikawa thanks himself for the ability to follow multiple trains of thought at once. He’s above missing a beat in this conversation because of secret musings. “That’ll certainly help everyone remember my face.” And then- “but no, not really,” in case the courtier thought he’d been serious. Blonde? Nah.

“I think they already do.” The soft fawn’s eyes glance back to the interior rooms. Oikawa mentally checks the time and notes that yes, trade talks would resume soon. The intelligent cue themselves in early. But on the topic at hand- should he be flattered? He’s kind of flattered. The novelty of flattery hasn’t yet dried from the lips of foreigners. “But there’re more things to a pretty face. I’ve heard more things about your mind than your face, truth to be told.”

Oh yes, he’s definitely preening at this one. The summer light seems a bit more golden, sweeter. Oikawa imagines an admiring submission onto Sugawara’s face, glad to find it fitting for three seconds before the latter catches on and quirks an eyebrow. Now admiring submission wouldn’t fit.

“And will I be hearing more things about what’s beyond your pretty face?”

He’d actually like to. There’s no one in Seijoh’s courts anything like this courtier, and it’ll make for a boring life without more of that wit. Oikawa smiles, showing in the slightest of twitches his unspoken expectation –leaving his intent half-concealed like a secret sign, the secrecy of the gesture exciting in the way a moonlit rendezvous is exciting –and catches the slivered excess of pride that spills from Sugawara’s brimming-cup pleasantry. He got it.

“You think I’m pretty, my lord? I’m flattered!”

Oh, but he’s not telling. Bastard.

* * *

 They talk more, over the next few days of the trade discussions. Oikawa gravitates towards the pale bob of hair among the Karasuno crowd whenever possible, when he’s not being harassed by his own people or some diplomat from Dateko. Seijoh’s capable Crown Prince is always popular, especially now that he’s stepped up ~~(to the chagrin of everyone he's suddenly the boss of)~~ to his duties as an advisor to the crown, but the admiring girls and warbling officials he can always find more of back home.

“So, what brings you to the oh-so-exciting trade discussions?”

But that half-smile laden with implications, those eyes darkly glowing with off-black embers, might be a Karasuno specialty.

“They had a few spots open to interested courtiers, so I volunteered.”

With his upper half elegantly draped over a stone railing, Oikawa’s surprised lurch almost sends him tumbling over it. He straightens up, then adopts another attempt at relaxation, reclining against an eagle carving even as he speaks with incredulity.

“What!? This can’t be your idea of fun, what kind of monster are you?”

Sugawara, with an elbow against the next eagle perched down the rails, stifles laughter.

“Karasuno breeds the worst kind of beasts.” Then, more seriously, “you know I’m not here for entertainment. No one’s here for entertainment.”

The most entertaining thing this entire meeting has been the weather. Oikawa voices that thought, swelling with pride when it brings more laughter to the other man’s lips. Sugawara agrees. Then Sugawara sees some diplomat or other drifting into their corridor, and his brows knit with a signal of warning –Oikawa swings over to the other side of his eagle, increasing the distance between them to appropriate frostiness.

“Blah blah economics blah. Oh, backwards Karasuno peasants. Haven’t you heard of Furudate’s Taxation Model?”

Ah yes, he sees the fucker. Shiratorizawa, no wonder they found this quiet spot of the palace, they own this place. The intense purple of those clothes is memorable; some defense guy, wasn’t he? On this side the eagle’s granite beak digs into his back, a hard pressure like a sword-point, and it helps the scowl on his face seem more authentic.

( _Ohohoh, if it isn’t Seijoh’s Crown Prince! Ascending yet? No? Must be a pity for you._

Do you have a message for either of us, Oikawa shoots back, and the radish-haired donkey confesses _we’d like you to know that we’re recommencing in ten minutes_. )

“I _have_ heard about Furudate’s Taxation Model,” Sugawara replies after the diplomat leaves. By the time Oikawa turns back, whatever docile pretense he’s put on is wiped clean. “Why didn’t you straighten up? It looks uncomfortable, leaning with the eagle’s beak right there.”

Psshh. “Political reasons,” he snaps, reasons which Sugawara takes to mean _I need to look suitably intimidating._ It’s not hard to do so in this spot, surrounded by the sharply-cut stone and harsh lighting of Shiratorizawa’s summer palace, their fires too big and filling their rooms with jagged light. Which is why, when faced with one of their court desensitized to the effect, one had to _up the ante_.

“At least he didn’t find us in the garden, what would you’ve done then?” Sugawara simpers falsely, his eyes glittering. The gardens are lovely, all lush and soft. A pity their warmth doesn’t reach three steps into the palace.

“Hm… thrown you into their fountain to emphasize my authority?”

Sugawara bursts out laughing, hearty and ill-restrained, and it only gets louder when Oikawa makes a grab for him to insist his point.

* * *

 That summer lasts for a week, in which their exchanges were certainly not enough.

 

He only sees snippets of Sugawara’s life in the next three years, from brief snatches of conversation stolen in-between political deals and economic talks, and it feels like craning one’s eye from the beach in an attempt to understand the ocean. It’s frustrating, but Oikawa has no excuse to be asking so much into the life of a courtier –correction, a courtier whispering into the ear of Karasuno’s exalted heir –correction, the Royal Advisor, appearing on the third anniversary of their acquaintance in silken robes and fine embroidery.

 

 _Sugawara Koushi,_ he offers with a bow, his pristine perfection matching the fine-lacquered furniture;  _it’s a great honour to meet you,_ which forces Oikawa to throw out a platitude in kind. Sugawara has gotten better in every conceivable way, which rankles as much as impresses. Oikawa smiles back but what he really wants to do is punch this man.

“The Royal Advisor is an important post,” Oikawa responds, watching the flock of grave-faced Karasuno ministers shiver anxiously in their shoes, “I wish you well.”

They’re afraid of him. _Good_ , but just they wait until they see the steel Oikawa’s knows is just hidden in their new Royal Advisor. Ample amounts of it, shaped over the years into increasingly vicious barbs. Oikawa _knows_ it’s there, thorns shivering under that facade of delicate frost.

Part of Oikawa can’t wait until Sugawara breaks out his new steel and stabs someone, and another part of Oikawa kind of wishes it were him doing the stabbing instead. He’s too used to monopolizing the industry of verbal destruction. But the little bird’s new claws don’t matter to him, he reminds himself. It doesn’t matter.

Where Sugawara is, Oikawa has reached years ago –and Sugawara’s fellows escort him away, wreathing around the man in a pretence of protectiveness, which is in itself a move of submission. Clearly they don’t trust their new Royal Advisor enough to let him loose around Seijoh’s, who has lineage and power and years of besting everyone else behind him (not to mention Iwa-chan). Maybe they’re worried that Sugawara will fuck up and give Oikawa an opportunity to tear Karasuno’s dignity to shreds. Maybe they already assume Sugawara is a fuckup, fine-lacquered furniture given too much importance for its worth, and when one of them splinters off maybe it’s to advise the King that this had been a very bad idea.

Oikawa tracks down Sugawara during one of their many recesses, pouncing in the gardens where the other man is admiring the koi-pond, and confirms again that it’s just the universal problem of court ministers being utterly incompetent in judging quality.

A man could hope, but it always seems that the general populace can’t recognize a threat they ought to make nice with until it bites their face off.

 

The conversation, as usual, is delightful. He’ll never admit it. It’s not his problem if Sugawara misses the memo.

 

“Did you copy me, you copying copycat?” Oikawa frowns, plucking some leaves from a bush to throw at the other man. The summer blossoms faintly perfume the air around them, sticky-golden like honey. “I didn’t say you could, now you’re undermining the awesomeness of what I did!”

“I didn’t _mean_ to.” A faux apology. Sugawara accepts the pelting with only a wince, allowing a pause for Oikawa to stew in childish triumph before he brushes leaves off. “Anyone with ambition is going to aim for the court’s most second-most influential post. And besides, I can never copy the fact that you made your move before twenty. That will always be amazing.” He bats his eyelashes, eyebrows furrowed in exaggerated pleading underneath his dove-grey hair, and Oikawa swats at him.

“Oh, you’d better know your place, Mr. Refreshing. _I’ve got my eye on you_.”

Sugawara still isn’t in a position to fuck with back so he’s forced to duck away. His hair shimmers silver in the sunlight, more eye-catching than ever. It seems a little farther from white than the last time they met, or perhaps Oikawa remembers wrong, or perhaps they’d stopped reinforcing the colour after being pretty stopped being Sugawara’s main job.

“Should I be flattered? But you don’t have reason to be jealous, really. You can climb higher. For me, y’know, it’s going to be a bit harder.”

Ah, yes. The most influential post in court is an of-age King.

Oikawa is torn between gloating and reassurance – _pft, you don’t seem like someone who’d let that stop them_ –and in the end, the case is so hard to settle that he mutters a vague “that’s true” to fill the silence. For some reason he can’t find the heart to crush this man’s parade, as insignificant as Sugawara technically is. A fledgling minister of a minor nation, his country like its symbolic bird scavenging for scraps amongst larger predators –but his achievements are a victory, undeniably, impossible to dismiss. Oikawa finds he has an appreciation for hard-earned triumphs.

The crow, as unassuming as it is, learns to flourish out of sheer adaptability and grit. Maybe Oikawa’s the least bit impressed. Sugawara laughs, bright and genuine with a flash of teeth, and maybe Oikawa’s the least bit impressed by that too.

“I’m not as fast as you are in working my way around things, but I’ll find a way eventually!”

You may be impressive, Mr Refreshing, but you aren’t going to run wild like this!!! Time to gloat.

“You can try as hard as you want, but you’ll never catch up to me~! Is this a declaration of war, Sugawara-san? You should think twice before challenging the most awesome person in Seijoh.”

“Oh, no. We’re not competing for the same posts, so there’s no need to fight. Unless you have designs on our territory?”

Taking territory from the crow nation? Karasuno’s borders span decent lands, but Seijoh isn’t in need of that. Setting Iwa-chan and his men on an average military… seems boring at best. So Oikawa replies _what? nah_ in his usual easy grace, and watching the momentary seriousness clear from Sugawara’s face feels better than expected. It’s like watching the sky brighten into azure again after a storm, the receding rain inviting a cool tranquility, the color of their flag spanning overhead like a blessing.

“I’m glad to hear that. We can make a side just of our own, then! Team I Can Probably Do A Better Job If You’d Let Me Do It.”

“If you’re deciding on the name, I claim designing the flag and team animal.”

Sugawara is in the middle of laughing like it’s a silly joke, his eyebrows going up mid-chuckle when Oikawa’s reply registers. Yes, Seijoh’s amazing Crown Prince is deigning to associate with you. Then the Sugawara smiles, genuine and soft in the way that matches the warmth of his eyes; Oikawa thinks of azure skies and the feeling of phantom drizzle on his skin.

* * *

 

In a week Sugawara has wormed his way into the notices of the entire Seijoh delegation. In a month, with the approval of the rest of his court only arguably present, discussions begin for a new trade treaty between their nations. In stark contrast to the ministers the approval of Karasuno’s next-in-line is definitely present, with the missives sealed by the Daichi family crest.

Oikawa remembers the heavyset crow-heir ignoring multiple other officials for a certain advisor’s quicksilver whispers, and sees Sugawara’s hand in the carefully-sculpted paragraphs. The memory is strangely sour; he is of the opinion that Daichi’s bronzed skin is ill-matched to Sugawara’s cultivated complexion, and that Daichi himself likely has no idea the work it takes to keep one’s skin so clear and unblemished.

Karasuno’s Royal Advisor must be almost _criminally_ under-appreciated.

In three months, Karasuno sends a delegation over to discuss details in person. Oikawa enlists more than one shaman to ensure that the weather will be perfect. The Sendai Palace is best toured (in Oikawa’s important opinion) after light rainfall, embellishing its many statues with gleaming raindrops. Clear skies are acceptable too, but it rains the night before the delegation arrives and the palace shamans are given promotions accordingly.  

Sugawara-san settles comfortably into the vast halls and grand carvings of Sendai, betraying no sign of unease until he mentions that Sendai is at least twice as large as Karasuno’s palace. The mentioning hardly even counts as a sign of unease, the casual way he comments it as if delivering a staple compliment. The corvids on his robes are albino, pale and delicate to match the soft ash of his hair. During discussions he takes the seat right next to Oikawa, letting the other Karasuno representatives file in around him, and Daichi never arrives.

He’s talked to Daichi –his Karasuno counterpart reminds Oikawa of Iwa-chan, a natural-born leader on the battlefield and a political phobiac in the throneroom. The number of times Iwa-chan has set foot in the inner halls of the palace can probably be counted on a single hand.

“Where’s your prince?”

“He has matters to attend to at home, so I’m here in his place.” Right now Sugawara’s smile is the sweet domesticated thing kind of smile, the safer one of his reserved-for-political-use smiles (all of which Oikawa is sure are faked). Oikawa imagines Daichi training his men into the ground miles away, safe behind Karasuno walls, relieved and enthusiastic to be left in familiar ground.

“Is he that scared of politics?”

“Sorry, my lord, that’s a state secret.” Sugawara’s eyes twinkle, a metaphorical flash of his carefully sheathed claws. In a lowered voice, he adds –“He’s no match for you, so I supported his misgivings about coming in person.”

No, Daichi definitely isn’t. That admission is gratifying, and at the same time –after some thought –an unveiling of the man before him as a threat.

There are some things that Sugawara can’t match him at, either, but there are a few things at which Sugawara comes close enough to scratch. And now Sugawara, sitting gracefully in a ruler’s place as if he was made for it, has an entire (small) nation to scratch with.

“Do you realize,” Oikawa starts, his voice fluting and nonchalant, “that you’ve climbed higher?”

 

_Do you realize that you’ve indeed found a way into the most powerful position in your lands?_

 

“Yes.” Sugawara lifts eyes to his, a steady gaze, and Oikawa searches those eyes for any whisper of a challenge. Karasuno’s Royal Advisor smiles a smile calm with expectation, and a chill coils in the pit of Oikawa’s stomach. Maybe it’s a thrill, uncoiling to snake its way up his windpipe. From somewhere distant there’s an awkward cough, some officer or other trying to tell them the meeting needs to be started, but Oikawa puts up a hand to silence him.

Fuck off. The important people are talking. His eyes never leave Sugawara’s, the search turning up nothing but promises of secrets, and slowly –what seems like very slowly –Oikawa watches the smile shift and ask _are you wary I’m looking for higher places to conquer?_

A fire once happened in the Palace’s west wing when he was younger, perhaps nine or ten, and in the nighttime umber of Sugawara’s eyes Oikawa imagines flames roaring. A scintillating shadow of a challenge. This is indeed a thrill, a thrill with brown eyes, who then brushes fingers across his hand and makes his skin burn.

 

Those are claws. Oikawa feels the claws in Sugawara’s light touch. Someone’s showing their claws, and again they’re sharper than before.

 

Maybe, Oikawa thinks, he might respond with a snarling sort of kiss.

 

“But bantering aside, I’d like to seek an alliance with you.” Sugawara says, and presses his fingers into the back of Oikawa’s hand; not a challenge that bangs on Seijoh gates with swords waving, but an invitation. The bird is laying its blades down at Oikawa’s seat, an offering in exchange for being allowed to change the rules.

“How forward.”

 

Now the surrounding conversation is quietening down, people turning mesmerized as their leaders’ little dance becomes decipherable. He’d like to see if any of the other Karasuno delegates are horrified –Oikawa still indulges himself in enjoying expressions of abject fear in others, at least the ones he’s caused –but he decides he prefers Sugawara’s attention at this moment.

 

“How… very forward, Advisor Sugawara.”

 

It’s the literal first thing he’s done as Karasuno’s leading diplomat. People have ample reason to think Oikawa would be angry. But anger evades Oikawa now, who only considers with amusement how bold a move Sugawara is making, how beautiful the efficiency he’s witnessing now that Karasuno’s albino songbird is allowed to take flight.

Sugawara Koushi doesn’t fuck around.

And by some genius maneuver he stops short of challenging Oikawa, inviting not retaliation but cooperation. _Let’s play a game_ , he says with his bashful nod yes. It’s forward indeed, his lips say but his eyes say- _Together? I think you’d like to._

“Let’s discuss it further during our recess? We shouldn’t have our trade ministers gather just to watch something else get done.”

Sugawara thought right. Oikawa finally glances away, tying up their little exchange with a silken ribbon in a neat bow, and sees the entire hall shudder in relief.

* * *

 “Does your prince know about this stunt? Is he King now, by the way? Heard his old man's taken ill.”

 

“No, His Majesty still has the crown. Prince Daichi manages his father’s affairs, but the title isn’t his. And yes, he knows, we thought to make the most of my temporary authority. My lord is a little inexperienced with pitching proposals.”

 

“I would’ve thrown the idea out if it’d been your prince.”

 

Oikawa has a feeling that Sugawara knows this, that this piece of knowledge had been the exact elixir that gave him such insane boldness. Seijoh would’ve thrown out anyone but him.

“Ehh, what’s with this ‘Prince Daichi’ politeness all of a sudden? I’m sure you call him something more intimate most of the time.”

Silence. Sugawara smiles and smiles and smiles, sorting through his options, and Oikawa watches the thoughts flit behind his eyes. Well? Inquiring minds want to know. Look at the cheeping birds dancing amongst the hanging beams, they look like your pretty little words. They want to know, too.

“You sound jealous.”

Hey, now. Fuck you.

“Since when were you so mean?”

“What sort of foreign prince cares if I have a place in my superior’s bed?” _Political reasons_ , Oikawa snaps back, forgetting to deny altogether that he cares about the Karasuno prince’s bed. He hears Sugawara laugh. “I don’t. I have something better –his trust.”

The admission is a strong breeze through a musty room, driving out tension Oikawa hadn’t realized he had. With such a reaction, one would almost find reason to think he’d been jealous. What bullshit.

Sugawara looks proud of himself, crossing arms smugly with nothing short of triumph lighting up his face – _i have the Prince’s trust, i don’t even need to care about his bed_ , and _do i, perhaps, have a second Prince’s attentions_? –that smirk is reaching unprecedented levels of playful, and Oikawa considers threatening to have his tongue cut off. That’ll shake things up, but that’ll also end their game, and, and –the longer he looks at that face, the more he’s considering something else, demanding another kind of offering –

“So sure of yourself, aren’t you? I haven’t even agreed to allying with Karasuno, and you’re teasing.”

That gives Sugawara pause. The playfulness fades into pensivity, the expression he wears while in serious thought. He looks good like this, sunlight splayed across him from the wide windows wide open. The next time they do portraits Oikawa shall sit there in that spot, and get Iwa-chan to do the same.

(The Head Commander of Seijoh’s military gets portraits too because just because. If you don’t treat your military fairly, who’s to fight your wars?)

 

“We both acknowledge that Seijoh has far less to gain from this. You’ll demand something in exchange, then? What do you have in mind?” Sugawara’s eyes are darkly luminous, swimming with promise. “You want me in _your_ bed?”

Oikawa takes a pointed mouthful of tea so he can spit-take it in Sugawara’s face.

 

But between the thought and the action of gulping the tea into his mouth he considers the possibility of changing his mind. Nah, he does it anyway, and Sugawara’s cry of surprise has equal parts of mirth within.

“As if I’d be that easy!” He turns his nose up. “No, something else. How about…”

Oikawa taps his lips, and his grin widens when he sees Sugawara’s eyebrows go up.

 

_A kiss?_

 

Caught you by surprise, didn’t he.

 

“You’re not saying no,” Oikawa adds when Sugawara indeed doesn’t protest –or even attempt to sip tea in a roundabout show of distaste –and reaches out to pull the other man in to pay his dues.

“Eh, wait-!”

Sugawara shoves him away, their two bodies rocking back, and Oikawa feels his heart thumping unnaturally loud. For a moment, he’s seized with the urge to flee, to recalculate and salvage what seems like a terrible error in judgement. But Sugawara still isn’t distressed, showing just a similar struggle to pick a reaction and stick to it, so maybe –he hasn’t miscalculated –?

“This isn’t a business matter anymore, is it? There’s no reason why only you get to pull me around.”

What?

“You want to –huhh, so you want to take advantage of me! You’re more dastardly than I thought.”

Who’s going to let him live the dream of being a heroic handsome main character of an epic ballad, who gets all the love interests swooning into his arms?? Iwa-chan won’t, and the courtiers will think he’s being serious!

“Hey, you asked for the kiss. And we can both manhandle each other’s robes if you insist.” Sugawara has to say this in-between laughs, his dark eyes alight. Right now those eyes are no longer the palace fire; bathed in sunlight and with his claws safely sheathed, they invoke instead the sight of Iwa-chan’s campfires in the army’s training grounds. As Sugawara leans across the small table and nestles his fingers into Oikawa’s coat, his eyes are suffused with the same warmth which coaxes hardened soldiers into sharing stories of home.

 

“Alliance with Karasuno, on the count of three?”

 

 

 

“You’re awful.” His hands find the folds embroidered with albino crows, once again. “Count of three.”

  



End file.
